Shot in the Dark
by Salty Q
Summary: Supernatural: Sam's murder of the Crossroads Demon from her POV. A few thoughts on what she may have been thinking written with the knowledge of what is to come. Rated for mild language.


**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! Reviews are answered and appreciated. Enjoy!

**Shot in the Dark**

He's demanding results from me. I know I can't give them as I am not in charge, but it's cute of him to be so bold.

As he gets angrier, I get hotter. I like Sam. I liked Dean too, but there's more than a smartass or a plan behind these eyes. He's desperate and I can feel it billowing from him like smoke sliding away from dry ice. To most, the stink of desperation is revolting, but me—that's what my job's all about. Don't get me wrong. Dean had been desperate too—he'd been dripping with the stench of it—but Sam's desperation is more than the desire to save his brother. He knows that saving Dean means saving them both. Sam's terrified of what he might become without Dean. And he should be.

I've seen it. In fact, it's always been part of the plan. They've been playing a game that they thought they were controlling, but it couldn't have worked out better for us. They don't know it yet, but this is how we're gonna bring existence into our grasp. They may not believe in one person being so pivotal in something so large, but we do. And we've been around a hell of a lot longer. We've always longed to get our hands on that older Winchester's soul. We know what it will do to Sam—what it will force him to become.

As we have a snarky exchange, I know I'm pushin' his buttons. I don't want to deal, I can't deal; I shouldn't allow myself to be bothered with this. I could be elsewhere making more promising deals, but I'd be lyin' if I said it doesn't intrigue me greatly. He's so desperate, he's nearly edible.

Not to mention the gun is a treat! I never thought I'd be honored enough—evil enough—to see it. But he brought it just for me. For a fraction of a second I feel something unfamiliar within me as I look upon the colt. As I realize this new sensation, I am amused and somehow appreciative. It's fear. It's something I haven't felt in hundreds of years. I should force it away like a good demon, but it pleasures me more than it scares me. I feel my existence dip and dive into the fear, wanting it, missing it, bathing within it.

The feeling of fear fades as he continues to talk. Having had the forgotten sensation of fear within me, I already miss it, but I am no longer afraid of the boy. If he had meant to use the colt in revenge, he'd have done so. I find myself distracted from our conversation as I narrow my eyes at the gun, impressed with its delicacy and precision.

I've repeated myself at least three times, though he's too driven to realize it. His face falls into an expression I would expect from a child and I giggle. He's so cute, I just want to grab him and take him, deal or not, although that is strictly against the rules—especially when it comes to a Winchester.

This one though, he knows. He knows that he's really shaking a tree—maybe _the_ tree—but I'm not sure he knows the nature of the leaves that are going to fall around him if he keeps it up. I'm tempted to divulge—just a bit—enough to make him even more desperate, but I'm not allowed. It's not my job and it's not my place, although at times like these, I wish it were. I'd like to see him squirm just a little more.

He's growing livid now. He's waving that thing around like he plans to use it. I laugh again, revealing to him that he can say or do whatever he wants, but there's nothing within my power that will save his older brother.

Oops! That's something I hadn't meant to say, but I don't change my demeanor in the slightest. The fact that I can't save Dean is just that: a fact. I wouldn't if I could, mind you. These boys are just too fun to torture.

Sam's eyes suddenly change and I feel it again. Fear. Fear so intense for a moment that I'm not sure what's going to happen, which is strange. It is usually within my ability to understand how my meetings will conclude—with a kiss, or without one.

As I continue to smirk at him, trying to project nonchalance to cover my newfound apprehension, a flash of movement catches my eye.

Sam's arms fly up, firing the gun at the exact right moment. I know it before I'm supposed to, but am unable to dodge it. That must be part of the gun's power—no dodging. I'm thoroughly impressed and undeniably amused. I'd laugh if I had time, but the weakness in this human body has already sent me packin'.

Damn, this kid has more in him than I'd given him credit for. I used to be sure of my side, but now that I was about to leave existence all together, I can't help but enjoy the fact that there's gonna be a worthwhile fight. I saw it in the kid's eyes. He's got it in him to fight—he might even play both sides—but he's gonna fight harder than I've ever seen anyone fight.

We'll have Dean downstairs, which is good. If he had Dean on his side and used the intensity I saw tonight, they'd have a chance. But Dean will be where he belongs—with all the demons and spirits he sent to hell in the first place.

As the head of my possessed body collides with the cement, there's a fleeting thought that excites me more than anything I've experienced tonight.

_Will he?_

I know the thought concerns Dean's fate and am at a loss as to why I would question the fact that he will spend eternity within the fiery pits of hell. His trip to hell will surely be one way. Again I feel an uncomfortable tug.

_Won't it?_

My mind chuckles despite the oncoming oblivion and as I fade off, I find myself wishing I'd have had tickets to the hoopla to come, 'cause it's gonna be one hell of a show.

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for reading, friends! Review, please!


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